


Crucio | Harry Potter

by fatecanberewritten



Series: Stars [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-06-14 08:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15384504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatecanberewritten/pseuds/fatecanberewritten
Summary: Every person, no matter how strong they were, no matter how well they resisted it, would come out of the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse either unconscious or screaming out for mercy.He was the only one who would come out of it, laughing.





	1. riddle

       A young boy sat alone in a deserted train station one rainy London morning. He had been to King’s Cross train station several times before, and each and every time, no matter how early or late, the building was always bustling with people. Where he sat now, however, it was desolate and nearly silent. All that could be heard was the sound of a distant train whistle, still at least ten minutes out.

       Of all the other times he had come to King’s Cross, he had seen only one side of it. In life as well, until very recently, the boy had seen it only one-sided, despite how odd it had always felt for him. He was never meant to be on that side of the world, and he knew it - but there, in the silent, emptiness of Platform Nine and Three Quarters, he for once felt at peace.

       The scarlet train entitled  _ The Hogwarts Express  _ arrived soon enough, and as if they had been outside waiting for it, people -  _ wizards  _ \- began appearing through the same wall the boy had entered through. He stood with his little belongings, and hurried to board the train before anyone else. Securing a compartment in the very back, he sat alone, and waited.

       What felt like a century of interrupted silence ensued before finally the train began to move.  _ This is it,  _ the boy thought. After months of anticipation, he finally was off to his new life, hoping to never return to his old one ever again.

       The boy had always preferred to be secluded, and though several children had come by his compartment, he had sent them running each time with a simple scowl. That was, until about a half and hour into the train ride.

       Another boy who couldn’t be any older than the first, opened the compartment door without ever seeing the first’s glare. He was fuming, and probably wouldn’t have noticed the first boy even if he had been shouting at him. “Mudbloods everywhere,” said the new boy with a bitterness in his voice. The first boy would still rather be alone, but he suddenly found the new one a bit more intriguing. The compartment was filled with a collective bitterness. “Can you believe it? Not a single compartment without a Mudblood.  _ Disgusting.” _

       The boys connected gazes then, the first realizing that the second had finally acknowledged him - spoken to him, as if they had already known each other. “Yeah,” responded the first. “Disgusting.”

      The new boy narrowed his brown eyes at the first, leaning forward, as if to get a better look at him. “I don’t recognize you. You’re Pureblood, right?”

       The first’s lips parted, his eyes darting to the right a bit, as if he truly had to think about this question. The second clenched his teeth and stood from his seat.

      “You’re one of  _ them,  _ aren’t you? Ridiculous! Not a single compartment pure of Muggle blood! What a waste, truly - ”

       “Wait, no - I am,” the first quickly intervened, suddenly wanting to know more from this boy, who seemed to have as much hatred toward the non-magical as he did. “I am Pureblood.”

       The second paused for a second, sneering at the other. “Really? Who’re your parents, then? Why don’t I recognize you?”

       “I’m an orphan,” answered the first. This stunned the other for moment - he grew up in a society in which family, one’s family name in particular, was central to everything. Thinking even for a moment of what it might be like to not have those caused him to sit back down.

       “So, you grew up as an honorary Muggle.”

      The first rolled his eyes, beginning to think of ways he could make the other leave, or at least hurt him. “I grew up hating them, but if you have to put it that way, then I guess I did.”

       “How do you even know you’re Pureblood?”

       This stopped the first, but only momentarily. He knew that there was no way his parents could be Muggles. He was much too powerful. He told the other this, but the other merely laughed.

      “D’you know who your parents are, at least? I know the Pureblood families well. I could confirm that you are.”

       “I don’t need to prove myself to you,” the first angrily responding, a glare on his face that almost looked murderous in the moment. Again, all the other did was laugh.

      “You don’t know much at all about the Wizarding community, do you? A name is everything here -  _ everything.”  _ The second boy looked as though he spoke from experience, and the first decided then and there that he would stick around this boy. He needed to know as much about this world as he could, and this seemed like a good way to do it. 

    “My father was Riddle.”

     “Okay, what’s the riddle?” the second immediately responded, leaning his elbows onto his knees as if he were truly ready to solve a riddle for his counterpart’s father.

     A smirk of a smile appeared on Riddle’s face, not because he found the other to be humorous, but because he knew in that moment that he was superior. “No,” he said slowly, suddenly taking control of the conversation. “That’s his name. Riddle.”

       The second’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought. “Don’t recognize it. May not be local - most likely it’s Muggle.” Riddle glared once again, and the other quickly continued. “And your mother?”

      Riddle had to think a little about that. The head of his orphanage had told him very little about his mother aside from her untimely death at his birth and the fact that she was a circus worker, something Riddle had never truly believed. It took him a minute, but finally he remembered the one concrete piece of evidence that connected him to some sort of family. “Gaunt.”

      The silence he received from the other boy was different than it had been in the past couple of minutes, and Riddle knew that it meant something. He watched as the corner of the other’s mouth began to curve upward into a smirk. “Would you look at that,” he finally said. “The Heir of Slytherin’s finally come to Hogwarts.” Though Riddle didn’t know exactly what meant, he understood that he was in fact meant to be in this world. In this world, he was an heir, a legend. “You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, my friend.”

     “What led you to believe we were friends?”

       The boy leaned back in his seat, appearing almost hurt at Riddle’s comment. “Come on,” he said. “Even the darkest of wizards need friends.” Riddle, for some reason, couldn’t tell him in that moment just how wrong he was. “What was your name, anyway? Something Riddle, I’m assuming.”

       “Tom,” answered Riddle distastefully. He’s always hated his name, and the thought that it might sound ‘too Muggle’ caused him to hate it even more.

      “Cross,” responded the other, holding out his hand for Tom to shake. A sign of friendship. Riddle stared at it. “Ulises Cross.” 


	2. help

      Ulises Cross, now a highly respected fifth year Slytherin, walked briskly down the empty Hogwarts corridors, only the dim moonlight illuminating his path. It was past curfew, but Cross couldn’t care less. No one would dare cross him. He may not have been a Prefect, but all but one of them lived in fear of him.

       Pridefully, he walked, his lip curving upward at the sight of two figures turning the corner in his direction a distance away. He lifted his arms from his sides, palms forward, as if to embrace the two, who were just close enough to hear his bounding footsteps. “Riddle! Kenter! Just who I was looking for,” Cross exclaimed, receiving a resounding  _ shhh  _ from the tired portraits hung around the corridor, to which he responded, “hush, Skeletons.”

      “I could give you detention for this, you know,” responded Kenter, a pretty pureblood Prefect from Dover. Her family, all with dark eyes, fair skin and even fairer hair, was nearly as wealthy as Cross’, but not nearly as influential. The two had known each other years before the train ride, years before the sorting, placing them both in the house of the Pure.

       “Sweet Eliza,” Cross started, “you wouldn’t do that, now, would you?” There was something malicious in his voice.

       Tom Riddle, towering beside his fellow Prefect, huffed out a brief chuckle. Kenter looked up at Riddle, her mouth agape, almost more shocked at the person allowing the action to happen than the one actually doing it. This was common for her. She lacked the confidence to be a proper Prefect.

       “As you mention it, though,” Cross continued, “I  _ did _ pass a young Ravenclaw by the Great Hall on my way here. Why not enforce the rules on someone they might actually apply to?”

       Elizabeth Kenter rolled her wide dark eyes, and after a glance to her patrol partner of the night, brushed past Cross in the direction of the Great Hall, alone.

       Riddle shook his head, smiling as Cross took Kenter’s place beside him, watching the girl’s retreating figure. “You really should treat her with a bit more respect,” said Riddle. Cross straightened his posture a little at the boy’s deep, smoothe voice. “She’s a nice girl.”

       “You’re right,” he answered. “I’ll probably marry her one day.” He didn’t know if Kenter could hear them still. He didn’t care.

       The two stood in silence, watching, waiting, until Kenter disappeared around a corner at the end of the corridor. Cross turned to Riddle and found his head already turned towards him, a look on his face that couldn’t explicitly be read. A moment of unabashed eye-contact was broken by Cross, tightening his jaw, looking down. Riddle remained.

       Clearing his throat, Cross spoke up. “Could I steal you for a moment, Riddle?”

       “You already have,” Riddle responded amusedly, motioning to the empty hallway. Riddle watched as Cross looked around, dumbfounded, his apparent plan not going the way he saw it. Cross was the only one Riddle had ever come across that actually amused him. All others he associated with were nothing more than followers.

       “Right,” said Cross, “uh, in here?” 

       With hesitance, Riddle followed Cross into an empty classroom behind them. He watched as his fellow Slytherin shut and locked the door, muttering a quick silencing charm about the room. Riddle stood more with curiosity than fear, but, nonetheless, his wand was out, held behind his back. Cross exhaled before turning to his classmate.

       “I know it’s you.”

       Riddle’s grip on his wand tightened, but he did not withdraw it from behind his back. He briefly shut his eyes, and tightly smiled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

       “Oh, come on, Tom - ”

       “Don’t call me that.” His tone was even, yet vicious. Still, Cross ignored him.

       He began pacing. “The other Slytherins - they underestimate you because you’re half-blood, but not me. See, Tom, I  _ know  _ you. I’ve known since that first train ride who you were and what you were capable of. I mean, after all, Heir of Slytherin isn’t a title that amounts to nothing, now, is it?” A gleam could be seen in Cross’ eye as he finished, stepping closer to Riddle. Never before has he seen such unease written on Riddle’s face. “You’re the one who’s opened the Chamber of Secrets.”

       Riddle fiddled with wand behind his back, desperately trying to think of what to do. He could tamper with the boy’s mind, but he hadn’t quite perfected memory charms yet, and didn’t want to experiment on such a useful mind. Torture was really his forte - it always has been, but he didn’t know if the situation called for it. Was Cross someone he could trust?

       “I suppose,” started Riddle slowly, “you’re going to report me to Dippet now, aren’t you?”

       “Report you?” said Cross, bewildered. “No - no, Tom, I want to  _ help  _ you.”

       He wanted to torture him just for his insistent use of his father’s name.

      “You see, I knew there was something special about you - something that  _ demanded  _ respect - and for years, I couldn’t quite place it, but I think I finally have. You’re here to carry out Salazar Slytherin’s most noble work - to finally rid Hogwarts of all the Mudbloods the clog it’s halls - and I want to do anything I can to help.”

       Riddle stood in awe at his counterpart’s plea, taking his time before speaking. “That is flattering, Cross. Really, it is - but I don’t want your help.”

       “Tom - ” Cross was attempting to step closer to him, but was stopped by Riddle’s wand, only an inch from his face.

      “I thought I told you not to call me that?” Riddle purred maliciously.

       Wandless, Cross stepped back, raising his hands in defense as Riddle stepped forward, backing him into a wall.

       “Oh, Ulises. You say that you know me - that you’ve known me since you first met me, but I have some news for you.” Ulises Cross watched fearfully as the corner of Riddle’s lip curved upward in a smirk. “You don’t know me at all.  _ Crucio!” _

       Cross’ vision flashed white as he fell to the floor, the most intense pain he had ever felt reverberating throughout his bones. He was no stranger to this curse - his father had used it on him multiple times growing up, but it had never been anything like this. Never anything as painful as this. He screamed despite the fact he knew not a soul in the castle could hear him. All the while, Riddle’s face remained unchanged.

       He didn’t know how long it had been since the curse had started - seconds, minutes - but eventually, he was released from it, shaking, panting, cowering against the wall. He watched as Riddle turned away, and he took that moment to gather his strength again.

       “You’re right.”

       Riddle had not expected him to speak, nor had he expected him to standing up as he turned back around. He watched him curiously, admiring his resilience. 

       “I don’t know you, Tom.” He smiled victoriously as he saw annoyance flash in Riddle’s eyes. “But I want to.”


End file.
